White Wolf
by Karlina101
Summary: In a world where magic is free and Arthur and Merlin are brothers, Camelot is threatened by an opposing force called the Moorlands that is ready to take over Camelot and everything it stands for. To succeed they need the fabled White Wolf, born in the form of Prince Merlin. Will hiding Merlin be enough to stop the invasion? Royal!Merlin, no!Morgana, Kind!Uther, Live!Ygraine,
1. Prolog

Little Arthur raced down the corridor, a blur of blond and red as he sped around sunny open corridors and bustling maids. His tiny feet skidded over the cobblestone floor as he ran into an old tapestry next to a turn, than into a manservant right after.

He ignored the servant's shrieks as he sped down the halls towards a very specific location. Nothing could hold him back from the pure elation he felt, so high he flew with wings! Unfortunately, his "wings" held a little too much wind-sending every poor soul it touched spiraling to the ground, or into the wall with a violent 'oof!'.

He whizzed by a maid calmly walking down the corridor with laundry, and tripped over her skirts. He knocked into her knees and sent her sprawling back, her armful of neatly folded laundry launched into the air.

She shrieked as she fell onto her bum, and gaped in dismay as the starched white clothes rained down from the sky to the top of her head. She snatched them off of lap and the ground, and searched furiously around for the wayward prince. She spied him up and going already a long ways down the stony wide corridor. She shook her empty fist at his retreating back and screamed

"Prince Arthur! Watch yourself!" "

"Sorry!" he called, still tumbling down the slippery corridor, "The babe is coming! I cannot stop!"

The little prince finally made it to the right hall, and skidded to a halt outside his mother's door. He listened intently, pressing his ear against the door, but heard not a sound inside. He bit his lip anxiously, he had heard that there should have been screaming or yelling or something of that sort. Had something gone wrong? He bounced a little in indecision on whether to knock. He may be only four, but he knew he couldn't just barge in.

Then, the door opened. Arthur's father stood tall and proud, at this moment not as a king-but as a father.

The king of Avalon was a tall sturdy man, with neat gray hair that was once black with deep blue eyes that matched Arthur's own. At that moment he wore none of his fine steel chain mail, or red finery befitting his kingdom; instead wore the simple white tunic and fine brown breeches that befit a tired and content man.

Uther smiled down on his son and said somewhat tiredly, "Would you like to meet your brother, Arthur?"

Arthur raced passed his father into the room filled with excitement with no further prompting. His father chuckled and shut the door behind him, closing them off from any eaves dropping servants.

His mother's room was a sunny and bright as any in the castle, with high glass pane windows open to allow in fresh air, with the green drapes fluttering with the spring breeze. Arthur's mother was laying contentedly back on large white pillows, her faced flushed with Arthur's golden hair lying about her shoulders. In her arms was a clothed bundle, mewling quietly in her embrace.

Arthur padded quickly over the plush rug to his mother's side, standing on his tiptoes to try and catch a glimpse of the new child. His mother's green eyes lifted up to his and she smiled with pure exhausted happiness. "Hello darling, ready to meet your brother?"

Arthur peered over the edge of the bed at the white bundle in his mother's arms. It was moving slightly, and he could see a hint of fingers wiggling just on the top of it.

"Is that a baby?" Arthur asked with wide eyes, standing on his tip toes for a better look. King Uther chuckled as he rested his hand on small Arthur's back. "Yes child that is a babe. He will grow to be your second in command someday."

"Uther he is your son first, not a chess piece. Remember this." Ygraine chided. She smiled down upon Arthur and asked him gently, "Arthur, would you like to hold him? A tiny thing he is, you must be gentle." Arthur nodded ferverently, standing back down firmly on his feet, and extended his small arms.

Uther moved to his wife's side, glancing uncertainly between his wife and son,

"Ygraine are you certain-?" Ygraine simply held out the child to Uther, her tired eyes firm.

"Let him hold his brother my husband-they need to connect. Trust between them is of most importance."

Uther frowned, but took the child carefully from his wife's embrace. He couldn't help but quirk a smile down at the wrinkled bundle, whom was fast asleep and wholly trusting of his father's grasp.

"He will be a fine champion someday." He said quietly. He took a quick firming breath and stated firmly to Arthur, "Sit and hold him firmly. Support his head."

Arthur scrambled onto chair by the window and held out his arms eagerly, holding himself as still as possible. Uther gently lowered the bundle into his arms.

"He is your responsibility to guard and teach now Arthur; he will support and advise you when the time comes-but you are to protect him in return. You will be King one day, and he will be your champion."

Ygraine interrupted from her bed,

"They are brothers Uther not chess pieces. Arthur, you support each other as brothers first and always; the king and champion are nothing without that, nor anything compared to it. Family, Arthur-not soldiers or chess pieces."

Arthur nodded, not really understanding but willing to please his parents. He looked down at the bundle in his arms-and thought it looked nothing like the cherubs he heard the maids describe. The babe was all wrinkly and old looking-but he was the big brother now, so he supposed the child was alright. The hair on the boys head actually reminded him of a bird his mother used to have-it was black and silky. He thought it was called…

"Merlin. Papa he looks like a merlin! Like Mama's merlin!"

Uther frowned in puzzlement, his brows furrowing. He looked down at the babe, and asked, "What merlin son? Your mother had a raven not a hawk…oh ha! Arthur the black bird is called a raven not a merlin. Although..." He looked thoughtfully down on the little babe. "He does look like a Merlin though. What do you say my dear? Prince Merlin?"

Peter smiled, "My brother, Merlin."


	2. The Moorlanders

White Wolf

Chapter 2

Deep inside the woods on a night as brisk as any northern land, a camp was teeming with working men. Passing out torches, glinting light off of weapons being sharpened to points. Fires blazed all around, pots broiling with liquid silver, soon to be cooled into swords and axes. Men rushed from one point to another in haste, muttering to themselves and each other as they passed. Shoats could be heard from all over the camp, demands for more wood or snarls to move out of the way. It was a large, bustling camp filled to the brim with men with heads filled with blood and little else.

Lane could barely stomach the look of them.

Standing on the very edge of the camp, half obscured by the shadows of the woods, Lane watched with poorly concealed disgust as men prepared for war with blood-lust in their eyes. He pursed he lips behind his loosely fisted hand and scanned the grounds with narrowed eyes. He took a mental role call of the men that worked before him.

Over on the far north side were their suppliers: the blacksmiths from Mercia, and the gothards from the coastal lands. They some of the grungiest workers in the land, but producers of fine weapons and creatures.

On the south were the scrappy warriors from Arcadia. They were a loud lot, but their sheer number made them invaluable as foot soldiers.

Next to them by contrast were the the knights of Elysium; not nearly as loud as the Arcadians, and kept to themselves more than anything. Dirty fighters the lot of them- but undeniably effective in close combat. They always had a poisonous look about them. Lance took care to steer away from them. .

He bit at his thumb in the dim firelight. He hated them all. Warriors or gothards, just the fact that they joined this farce of an army was enough to sicken him. They were nothing more than mercenaries from several nations, but on this occasion they all served under one flag.

The flag of the Moorlands.

From the throng of braying people a small scruffy figure scampered around one the tents and hurried to Loren.

"Master Loren! A message from the war counsel!" he held out a scroll with a small bow as soon as his feet hit the shadow line.

Loren waved a hand at him and shushed him hurriedly.

"I told you not to call me that! Not here or anywhere else- make sure you get that through your stoned skull! You'll get us all killed Dane."Lane hissed lowly at him.

Dane shook his head and stood at attention before him. He pushed the scroll towards Lane.

"If my Lord calls you Master Loren, so will I, sir. I'm not about to go disrecti'n my Lord, sir."

Lane scowled and snatched the scroll out of the boys hand. "If our Lord would deign to keep propriety for even a moment so I could keep my head, no one would need to disrespect the bone headed fool." He muttered to himself lowly under his breath and tore the scroll open. Dane didn't blink at the truthfully mild insult at their Lord, and waited patiently for Lane to stop muttering to himself over the offending parchment. Suddenly, Lane snarled at the crisp parchment and crumbled in his fist and stormed off away from the shadows and the startled Dane.

Slowing his furious gate into a more subdued step, Lane quietly left the camp and approached the tall hill in the single open clearing of their portion of the woods. On top of the hill stood a fair man in fine clothing and crossed arms looking up at the bright moon.

Loren stopped at the base of the hill, and bowed low.

"The preparations are just about ready My Lord."

The Lord kept on standing with his back turned to the Loren. The Loren continued;

"The torches of war have been lit, and soon Camelot will know of our cause."

"And we will rise."The Lord finished quietly. He didn't turn. Loren inhaled than huffed out quick breath.

"The council wishes to know what we will do next. They say you have not fulfilled your promise of informing them of the whole plan. They demand recompense." He waited with wary anticipation.

The Lord lifted his head with an incredulous snort.

"They come to me begging for a leader, a guidance. They cry for the dawn of war and yet they snivel like fools and demand recompense."

Lane kept his head down, but he know that his Lord must be looking over his shoulder at him. He heard a wry even tone.

"I suppose you agree with them."

Lane didn't look up, "It matters not what I think My Lord."

A sigh. "I say it does. Out with it."

Lane visibly hesitated, licking his lips and fisting his hands at his side. He still refused to look up.

"….I believe that you have fulfilled all your promises to the men. To the counsel. That you will deliver even more than anyone could have imagined." He finally glanced up.

The Lord had turned fully to face him, his arms lowering to his side, cocking his head to the side with a knowing grin.

"You always did have an unwarranted amount of faith in me Loren; more faith than I've ever deserved."

He beckoned Loren up with his hand. Loren glanced around fervently, and quickly stalked up the hill.

"You know you shouldn't address me so in front of the men; this is highly inappropriate Lane!" Loren hissed at him.

Lane snorted, tossing his head back and turning back to the other side of the hill. He waited for Loren to pause a step behind him-as was appropriate!-before he reached back and tugged him further to his side than down the far side of the hill.

"You've always cared far too much about propriety dearest. Our charade cannot last forever."

Loran snapped his head to the side and glared daggers down at Lane,

"It would last longer if you would dare act somewhat appropriately. There's only so much cover up I can manage without it being apparent, _my lord_. And calling me "Master Lane" in front of the servants is helping not a whit! Honestly now you have Dane-little Dane- refusing to call me anything else now! What if your counsel-or worse- _your father_ finds out about that? He will naturally assume the truth!" Loren toward over Lane menacingly, and Lane held his hands up placatingly with an unworried expression.

"Well having the men hear you threatening me is not going to help anyone now, is it? If anything it will speed things along."

Loren began to flush and he hissed into Lane's amused face.

"Yes very amusing let's see how we like my head on a stake! You know thats what happens to-frivolous servants!"

Lane's amused face quickly dropped into a dark expression. "You know I'll die before I see you harmed." he raked his eyes over Lorens form with concern.

Loran was taller than Lord Lane, with a head of dark hair, and dark amber eyes that glinted above him with tired irritation. His tall, modestly dressed frame was tense with anxiety from the exposer to the mercenaries not even fifty feet away from them. Lane knew how Loren feared them, and in truth they scared Lane hated the situation as much as Loren did. He hated even more the anxious crease it put around Loren's mouth and forehead, how the constant worry stole the light from his bright eyes and turned his languid limbs to stone. Lane put his hand into Loren's clunched one, and reached up to brush his fingers over the high cheekbones. His lips thinned.

"When winter comes, and the lands are frozen we will have our reward dearest. None will care of our stations-we will be free." He cupped his palm on Loren's tight cheek.

"Nothing will take you away from me; nor will anything _keep_ you away. We will find the White Wolf and win this Loren."

Loren stood stone still in his grasp. Than he hesitantly reached up and placed his hand over over Lanes. The hardness and irritation faded from him, leaving only the worry and tiredness in his eyes. He turned his face to kiss Lane's palm.

"What if the child isn't the White Wolf, Lane? We will have invaded a land for nothing. If this fails, we will have nowhere left to run. Your father will be Master of all lands from here to the Northern sea- hundreds will be slaughtered. Is that what we want? To responsible for the doom of Avalon for the dim prospect of our own selfish happiness?"

Lanes hands tightened onto Loren. He dragged Loren closer to him and murmured into his face. "Yes. This is worth it. _We_ are worth it. This plan is solid and we will _not_ fail. The child is the White Wold and once we have harnessed it's power we will be able to easily overthrow my father and end this madness. Than we will instate my brother onto the throne, and retire out of the view of the counsel. Nothing can stop us Loren, trust in me as you always have."

Loren quickly blinked away tears. He gripped Lane's hand, than let go to wrap himself around Lane's neck.

"As I always have."


End file.
